


how long has it been since we waltzed?

by penelopeblossom



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 80s pop infused liaisons, Blossom sex at its finest and most gothic, F/M, Halloween Costumes, Mostly lust, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riverdale Kink Week, Riverparents, Smut, light feelings, none of you asked for this but you're getting it anyway, parentdale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 05:02:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16190642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penelopeblossom/pseuds/penelopeblossom
Summary: The story of Jason and Cheryl's conception, or: the one time Clifford Blossom fucked his wife right.





	how long has it been since we waltzed?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bewareoftrips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewareoftrips/gifts).



> Title taken from The Addams Family.
> 
> Special thanks to my girl Kim for helping me develop the headcanon that inspired this fic.

Clifford Blossom stands at the center of the Thornhill ballroom in a pinstripe suit with slicked back hair, watching attentively as the maid finishes setting down the crystal punch bowl on the table.

“Thank you, Martha,” he says as soon as she’s done. She offers him a curt nod before turning to leave the room.

The final touches for the party are in place. The decorations have been hung up, the centerpieces and name cards are on the tables, and the stereo system is set up and ready to go. There are black and white silks hanging from the ceiling, candelabras, and a fog machine one of the help dug up that he still hasn’t made up his mind about. All that’s missing is the music and the guests and…

The sound of creaking wood pulls Clifford from his reverie and he looks up to find the lithe figure of his wife slipping through the doorway as if on cue. His eyes wander over her body-- the silhouette of her willowy black dress accentuating every curve of her form. As she gets closer to him he can see that she’s made herself up to look like the person she’s dressed as. She’s even forsaken her usual curls, though her vibrant red hair remains.

“Well aren’t you a vision,” he says when she reaches him. He takes her hand and raises it to his lips, making her blush.

“You don’t think it’s too much?”

“It’s Halloween,” he assures her, “there are no half-measures tonight.”

“Except for the hair,” Penelope corrects. “I thought about getting a wig, but I didn’t think I could pull it off.”

“Well wig or no wig, you make a lovely Morticia.”

Penelope smiles but averts her gaze towards their surroundings, “Is everything in order for the party?”

“Just about,” Clifford nods.

“Good.”

“Have you finally decided what you want for your birthday?”

He’d been asking her the same question for weeks, and every time Penelope would just shrug her shoulders or make up some excuse about how November 1st was still a long way off. _Twenty-six isn’t significant_ , she insisted, but Clifford knew there had to be more to it than just that.

Penelope sighs, taking his hand in hers and gently placing it over her stomach before meeting his eyes.

“You know what I want,” she says softly.

Clifford allows his hand to linger on her abdomen just a little longer before wrapping his arms around her waist and closing the space between them, “I know, sweetheart, I know. We’re trying.”

“Not hard enough,” Penelope says tugging at the sleeves of his jacket, “We need to try something different.”

Clifford gives her a curious look, “What do you propose we do?”

Penelope quietly studies his face for traces of reservation. Finding none, she decides to take a chance-- breaking from his embrace and making her way over to the corner of the room where the stereo is set up. She flips through the CD case, impatiently searching for the disc she had burned of five consecutive plays of Cyndi Lauper’s “All Through the Night”.

As soon as the music comes on, Clifford knows exactly what she’s getting at.

“So?” she asks when she returns to him. “What do you say?”

“The party starts in half an hour.”

Penelope shrugs, “Then we better not waste any time.”

Clifford’s never seen her look so serious. Part of him wants to protest-- to tell her that this is neither time nor the place to be engaging in such liaisons. But another part of him, the more instinctual part, compels him to go for it. To forget his inhibitions and just take her right here, right now.

One good look at her in that alluring black dress and bright lipstick and his decision is made for him.

_Oh, all through the night today, knowing that we feel the same without saying..._

He backs Penelope up against the table and brushes his lips over hers, kissing them lightly. His hands travel down her body-- grazing her neck, tracing her collarbone, before finally settling on her breasts. She’s wearing a bra and he’s only feeling her over her dress, but despite all the fabric between them he can still feel her nipples go hard beneath his fingertips. He rubs circles around them with his thumb, then gives them a slight pinch.

Penelope lets out a whimper and Clifford places his hands just under her rear, lifting her onto the table with minimal effort. This seems to take Penelope by surprise, her lips curling into a mischievous grin as she reaches over to remove his belt. Normally Clifford would do this part himself, but tonight is anything but normal. He allows Penelope undress him and takes note of the ease with which she unbuttons and unzips his pants. She’s hungry tonight— hungrier than he’s ever seen her-- and, for a moment, he forgets she’s his wife.

“You look very smart,” she tells him as she pulls down his pants, letting them fall to the floor. The sound of metal hitting marble echoes throughout the room. “Declan did an excellent job.”

Clifford tilts his head, “The suit is one thing, but I’m still not convinced about the mustache.”

“Nonsense,” Penelope says as she toys with the elastic on his briefs. “You wouldn’t look the part without it.”

Clifford regards her for a moment, taking in the curl of her lashes and the scarlet color of her lips. It isn’t often she does herself up so heavily, but if there’s one day a year Penelope spares no expense to look the part, it’s Halloween. And though he tends to prefer a more natural look, Clifford has to admit she looks exquisite.

Penelope continues to tug at the band on his briefs— absentmindedly slipping her fingers under it and pulling them back out to run them along the fabric. Clifford feels himself stir. He raises a hand to her chin and tilts upward, forcing her to meet his eyes. Penelope waits for him to say something, her hazel eyes dancing desperately, but Clifford remains silent.

_Oh under those white street lamps, there is a little chance they may see..._

The music picks up and, just like that, his lips are on hers— feeling her smile against him, parting just enough to taste the butterscotch on her tongue. The sweetness mixes well with the bourbon and for a moment Clifford lets himself wonder if Penelope tastes just as sweet in other places.

He’s fully hard now, which Penelope takes notice of when she pulls him closer and feels his bulge press up against her thigh.

“We have to be quick,” she whispers against his lips.

Taking her cue, Clifford hikes up her dress until her lower half is completely exposed. Penelope lies back on the table, eager to take him inside her. The chorus of the song is about to come on again and she prays the timing aligns. Clifford runs his thumb along the lace of her underwear and lingers on the warmth that indicates she wants him. Placing his palms on the insides of either of her thighs, he spreads her legs apart and pulls down his briefs in haste.

_Oh the sleep in your eyes in enough, let me be there let me stay there a while..._

“Don’t go too slow,” Penelope implores, “time is of the essence.”

Clifford offers her a smile, maintaining eye contact as he pushes the fabric of her underwear out of the way and slips inside her. There’s no time for teasing tonight, and no need— Penelope is generously lubricated. Clifford can’t remember the last time he was able to take her with such ease.

_We have no past, we won’t reach back, keep with me forward all through the night…_

He starts off slow and Penelope closes her eyes, focusing on the feeling. Clifford is well-endowed, but he doesn’t always know how to please her properly. In the seven years they’ve been married, Penelope can’t recall a time he ever truly left her reeling. It’s just always been so predictable with him. But tonight they’re off to a good start-- the ballroom is a nice change of scenery and for once he’s fucking her on something other than a bed. She would have preferred it if he was the one lying on the table instead of her, but she had to take her victories where she could get them.

Once he’s found his rhythm, Clifford pushes in deeper and picks up the pace, eliciting a quiet moan from Penelope. He starts to pump into her in time with the music and Penelope finds herself grabbing onto the tablecloth to keep herself from crying out. He’s never been so rough with her...it’s a welcome change.

_Until the end, there is no end..._

Knowing a high note in the song is about to be reached, Clifford thrusts into her harder-- rocking the table just enough to tip the crystal punch bowl next to them. Penelope’s back instinctively arches though she manages to stifle the groan that threatens to escape her throat. Clifford looks over to the bowl. There’s a growing orange spot on the white tablecloth.

“We’ll have to get that cleaned up before the guests arrive,” he says before turning his attention back on his wife.

Their expected guests are the last thing on Penelope’s mind as she wraps her legs around Clifford’s middle and pulls him closer to her, her heels crashing unceremoniously behind him.

“Let’s focus on the task at hand,” she urges.

Clifford leans down and presses a kiss to her neck as he continues to rock his hips to the music. His kisses are quick and hurried, but Penelope doesn’t mind. She feels a chill run down her spine and sucks in a breath when his lips linger on the spot just under her ear that always leaves her weak. He knows she’s sensitive there.

Clifford continues to plant a few more kisses, making it down her collarbone, before Penelope takes his face between her hands and crashes their lips together. She’s certain her lipstick will be all over his face by the time she’s through with him, but puts the thought out of her mind and allows herself to melt in his mouth. The taste of Four Roses overpowers what little lingering sweetness she had on her tongue.

Clifford finally pulls away and Penelope can’t help but grin at the reddish tint of his lips. His hand travels briskly from her shoulder to her breast and he keeps it there, uncupped, as he picks up the pace and pumps into her more aggressively. They don’t have much time left.

Penelope bites her lip and tightens her grip on the tablecloth but one steady thrust hits just the right spot and she cries out so loudly that it echoes throughout the room. Clifford lets go of her breast and instinctively puts his hand over her mouth. God forbid one of the help hear her cries and rush to her aid under the wrong impression. The combination of Clifford’s hand firmly muffling her groans and his steady movements sends Penelope over the edge, her legs spasming as she tightens around him.

Clifford lets go of her and comes moments later, his labored breath harmonizing with Penelope’s as they both come down from the throes of pleasure. He gently slips out of her and Penelope readjusts her panties-- which are now entirely wet-- before sitting back up on the table. Clifford extends his hand so as to help her back on her feet.

She’s smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress when she notices Clifford looking down at the mess she left on him.

“I’ll take care of that,” she says, lowering herself to her knees.

Clifford has half a mind to protest but ultimately decides against it, instead opting to close his eyes and tilt his head back as Penelope licks him clean. He pulls her back up and she meets his gaze as she calmly wipes the corners of her mouth dry. Somehow she makes the action seem dignified.

“You ought to hurry along,” he says fumbling with his belt, “it’s almost 7:00.”

“You’re not coming with?”

Clifford leans over and plants a delicate kiss on her forehead, “I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

Penelope nods and turns to exit the room, her stilettos clicking against the marble floor.

Clifford waits until she’s gone before he walks over and turns off the stereo. Once the music stops, the air feels still. He straightens his back and slips a hand into his pocket, scanning the room. In just a few minutes it would be filled with people he knew. He lets out a sigh and turns to leave when his eyes land on the stain by the crystal punch bowl.

Goddammit.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in three years and my first attempt at smut, so bear with me. Feedback is much appreciated!


End file.
